


i cannot get out, said the starling

by problematic_pleasures



Category: Actor RPF, IT (2017) RPF, IT (Movies - Muschietti) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, All Actual Sex is 18+, Blowjobs, Crying, Dead Dove: Don't Open/Eat, Get Together Fic I Guess, Kissing, M/M, PWP, Pining, Praise Kink, Underage Kissing, handjobs, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 22:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20646977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: Bill and Finn—two moments, years apart.





	i cannot get out, said the starling

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, did you read the tags? Are you sure? Are you positive? Cuz this is purely dirty, filthy, badwrong. I've never claimed to be a good person, and I'm not going to start now. There are moments in interviews when they way Finn looks at Bill is just... woof. Finn is 15 (by my math) in the first bit, but the second half of the fic is focused after he's turned 18. 
> 
> Thanks and love to my beta, as always!

Bill’s eyes are heavy and his book is going slack in his hands but when his trailer door slams open, he startles and sits up a little straighter. He drops his book onto his stomach and scrambles to pick it up again and brings it up to his face.

“Your book is upside down,” Finn says. The trailer door falls shut with a soft _snap_ behind him.

Bill blinks and leans back to look closer at his book. “Son of a bitch.” He rolls his eyes and tosses the book aside. “You got me. What’s up?”

Finn’s big eyes stare at him; he’s all pale skin and gaunt cheekbones and it’s even more pronounced since he’s clearly nervous. Bill sits up a little straighter and tries to put forward an air of comfort, or stability, of _“I’m here for you_._”_ He might not have wanted a framed picture of the kid in his house but that doesn’t mean he hates Finn. It’s just undeniably weird for him to have a _framed picture _of a then _thirteen-year-old boy_ in his house. Hell, he’s only fifteen now, which isn’t much better. At least he looks less cherubic nowadays.

“It’s nothing,” Finn says abruptly. Bill half expects him to slip out but Finn just stands there, almost freakishly still. 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing…” Bill trails off. “Seriously, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Finn is quick to say. “Just, stupid stuff. Teenager stuff.”

Bill nods slowly. “Right…” He taps his hands on his knees awkwardly. “Do you want a drink or something? Soda? Water?” 

Finn looks surprised by the offer, which kind of makes Bill feel like a jackass. Seriously, he likes Finn well enough. They’ve hung out on set and they talk and goof around; they’re gonna do press together because _duh_. But somehow, Bill’s managed to build up this wall and now he feels like an asshole for it.

“Go ahead, sit. Chill out.” Bill stands and meanders over to the minifridge on the other side of the trailer. Finn squeezes by him to sit on the couch Bill previously occupied, hunching in on himself as if to take up as little space as possible. Bill raises an eyebrow but Finn must not see him do it; he’s just staring at his hands. 

Bill gets them both a Coke and returns to the couch. Finn mumbles out a quiet “thanks” before popping the tab and taking a long drink. Bill does the same but he can’t stop looking at Finn.

“Seriously, Finn. You’re kinda starting to freak me out,” Bill says. 

Finn sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. He sets his Coke aside and rubs at his eyes. “Sorry, it really is no big deal. Just dumb stuff. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah.” Bill relaxes slightly. “I know I’m ancient now but I was a dipshit teenager once.”

That at least gets a laugh out of Finn. “You’re not ancient, shut up.” Finn shakes his head. 

Bill isn’t sure to response to that, but it turns out he doesn’t have to—suddenly, Finn throws himself back with a loud sigh. “Sorry,” he says again.

“You don’t have to apologize” 

Finn shrugs. He opens his mouth and Bill can practically _see_ the “I’m sorry” forming on the tip of his tongue again. So Bill does what he does best, and makes a joke. 

“Jeez, be more Canadian,” Bill says teasingly in his own exaggerated Canadian accent. “Saying _soory_ all the time.” 

Finn laughs brightly and some of the tension seems to ease off his shoulders. Then, after a beat, he says, “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Bill can’t help it; he’s surprised. “Yeah?”

Finn fiddles with his soda, Bill must’ve missed him picking it up again. “Yeah. Like, when I said I wanted you for adult Richie, I didn’t really know it would happen.” Finn is speaking to his soda can. “So I’m just really glad you’re here. I’m glad you got the role.”

Bill’s voice is, hilariously, hoarse when he speaks a few moments later. “Yeah, me too.”

Finn sets his soda aside again and shifts on the couch. He looks seriously at Bill for the first time since he barged into the trailer. “God, this is stupid,” Finn hisses as he inches closer on the couch. Bill finds himself frozen still as Finn gets closer and closer until their knees are bumping. Finn’s hand is on his where it rests on the back of the couch. 

“Finn,” Bill breathes. 

“Bill,” Finn breathes back. He’s in Bill’s space now, invading his personal bubble. 

Bill swallows uncertainly. “What...what do you think you’re doing?” 

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a while,” is Finn’s response. He brings one hand to Bill’s chest and lays his palm over Bill’s thundering heart. 

Bill _knows_ it’s bad. He _knows_ it’s fucking _wrong_. He feels ridiculous, sitting here like a deer caught in the headlights. He doesn’t move away when Finn leans closer still until they’re breathing the same air. “Finn,” he tries. 

Finn only hums before he’s closing the space between them. 

Bill watches for a moment as Finn’s eyes flutter shut, long eyelashes fanned over pale cheeks. Then, Bill’s eyes are sliding shut too. On instinct, he tilts his head just _so_ and Finn squeaks into the kiss, and squeaks again when Bill slides his tongue along the seam of Finn’s lips. There’s a brief moment of hesitation, Finn’s mouth drops open. Bill deepens the kiss gently. He memorizes the feeling of Finn’s mouth and the taste of soda on his tongue until his lungs are burning. Finn’s are too, if the way he pants when the kiss breaks is any indication. 

“Bill,” he whines. His hand fists in the fabric of Bill’s shirt and he moves impossibly closer. 

“Finn, no, stop.” Bill speaks firmly and at the very least Finn _does_ stop. He’s shaking, practically in Bill’s lap, and Bill is _terrified_. “C’mon, what are you doing?” He asks as gently as he can stand. “This isn’t,” he gulps, “This isn’t right.” 

“I know.” Finn licks his lips and in spite of everything, Bill tracks the movement with his eyes. “I don’t care.”

“_I_ do.” 

Finn flinches back slightly and Bill’s heart aches for a second. He needs to stay firm in his resolve. Kids get like this, silly little crushes, idolization turning into something “more.” It’s totally normal, Bill knows. But that’s why he absolutely cannot encourage it in any way. 

He’s still mulling over how best to handle the situation when a hand lands over the front of his jeans where his traitorous cock is half-hard. He looks down and watches for a brief, hypnotized moment as Finn’s long slender fingers work over the bulge in his jeans.

“Finn, fuck,” Bill hisses. He reaches down and takes Finn by the wrist, pulling his hand away. “No.”

Finn swallows. His lips are pink and his cheeks are flushed and _fuck_ he looks so good and Bill _hates_ himself for thinking it. Finn’s pretty, undeniably, upsettingly so. But it’s not worth thinking about because he’s _too_ young.

“I can’t, Finn,” Bill finally says. His voice is a husky rasp and a dark, deep part of him wants to just say _fuck it_. But he’s better than that; he knows he is. He leans out of Finn’s grasp and stops touching him and watches as the other man shifts back too. 

“Fuck,” Finn mutters. He presses his hands to his eyes, heels digging in. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, hey.” Bill’s instinct is to reach for Finn and comfort him but he _can’t_. “Don’t. Apologize. You didn’t...It’s okay,” he amends. “I shouldn’t have let it get that far. That’s on me.” 

Finn opens his mouth to say something but Bill shushes him. 

“It’s okay,” Bill assures him gently. “It’s alright, Finn. I get it, it happens. But we can’t do this.” 

Finn’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes cast downward and Bill’s heart clenches at the sight of wetness clinging to his lashes. But just as quick, Finn looks up with a blinding grin in place and eyes red but dry. “Totally!” He says cheerily. He scrambles off the couch and if Bill didn’t know better, the gangly actions would almost seem normal. “Totally. Got it. See ya, Bill!”

The trailer door crashes shut and Bill groans, hiding his face in his hands. 

* * *

He fires off a “happy birthday” text the day after Finn’s birthday and swallows uneasily. 

After that disastrous afternoon in his trailer, things had been...shockingly normal. Finn had reverted to how he was before: idolizing Bill, always on around Bill to get a laugh, always giving him shit but folding in a compliment from time to time too. The press went _great_, and the film was received with glowing reviews—for Bill, in particular. 

Bill spent a lot of time waiting for the other shoe to drop. He spent the rest of filming that way, he spent the whole press tour that way, and some days he still wakes up and thinks, _“Oh god if anyone finds out, I’m fucking screwed.”_

Except for today. Shamefully, Bill’s first thought as he opened his eyes was, _“Shit, Finn turned eighteen yesterday.”_

Then he sent the text, and now he’s here. 

Finn texts back moments later. _Thanks! ;-)_

Bill swallows at the message and feels dumber than he’s ever felt. Thumbs shaking, he taps out, _When are you in LA next?_

Bill sets his phone aside as he waits for a response. He fixes himself a cup of coffee and he makes toast that his stomach is already roiling at the thought of. He downs the coffee and toast and finally chances a look at his phone. He’s got multiple messages waiting for him.

_Two weeks, for a photoshoot._

_Why? I could be there sooner._

_If you wanted, I mean._

Bill takes a deep breath through his nose. He stares at the messages. He can practically see Finn’s eager face. 

He fires back, _Nah, two weeks. Dinner, on me. As a belated gift._

The reply is instantaneous. _Fucking sweet!_

Despite it all, Bill grins to himself. 

Two weeks creeps up almost terrifyingly quick. Bill had considered meeting Finn at the airport but that felt too..._too much_, is all he can think to describe it. So he reminded Finn of his address and told him to catch an Uber and now Bill is pacing around his apartment. 

_This is a huge mistake_, Bill thinks. He looks longingly at the liquor cart he seldom makes use of and talks himself in, and out, and in, and out of pouring himself three fingers of scotch. _This is the biggest mistake of my life._

And then the doorbell rings. 

Bill freezes, mid-step. The doorbell rings again and then a few beats after that, Finn knocks. The sharp sound of knuckles on wood trips Bill into action and he very narrowly avoids crashing into his apartment door. He barely takes time to check through the peephole that it’s actually Finn before he rips the door open.

Finn’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder and a rolling suitcase beside him. “Hey, Bill,” he greets quietly. 

“Hey, birthday boy,” Bill greets on instinct. He cringes. “Er, c’mon in.” He steps back and lets Finn into the apartment. “Here, let me,” he says as he reaches for the suitcase. 

As he grasps the handle, Finn’s fingers brush his and it’s all Bill can do not to jump and yank his hand back as if burned. He forces himself to ignore the touch and drags the suitcase to what functions as the living room. It’s a couch and a rickety coffee table and a television that’s probably bigger than it needs to be.

“So,” Finn drawls. “Nice place.” 

Bill snorts. “Yeah, definitely. It’s great,” he replies sarcastically. It’s decently large, at least for the area and for what he’s paying. But there’s not enough room for the girls to all stay over comfortably and it’s worlds away from the home he shared with Maggie. 

“No, really. It’s cool.” Finn finally drops his backpack to the ground and wanders around. He disappears down the hall and speaks as he goes. “Yeah, this is like, the kinda place I’d want, when I’m on my own.” 

“Yeah, you’re a teenager, dude,” Bill hollers back. 

“Whatever,” Finn replies as he returns to the living room. “_I_ like it,” he says, as if that’s the only thing that matters. “So, where are we going?” 

Finn says it so easily. For a moment, Bill wonders if he’s pushed the awkward day in the trailer from his memory. Some of tension eases off Bill’s shoulders. He can do this—be a good guy and take Finn to dinner, let him crash on the couch...It’ll be fine. 

Finn’s laughter is as intoxicating as ever. Bill swallows yet another laugh of his own as the elevator takes them up to his floor. Dinner was good, greasy and delicious and if Bill had let Finn take a few sips of his beer, then that’s just between them. Finn is as vibrant as he was years ago; they haven’t exactly worked closely together since the press for the film ended. Muschietti never got to make his super cut, so there was never a reason for Bill and Finn to work together. Their projects just never overlapped. 

“You’ve grown,” Bill says as they step off the elevator. 

“I know! I’m still not as tall as you, though,” Finn says jovially. 

Bill swallows. “You’re not as gangly as you used to be, either.” 

He’s pretty sure he’s not imagining it when the apples of Finn’s cheeks flush pink. Bill turns away to let them back into his apartment and he’s painfully aware of Finn right on his heels.

“Bill,” Finn says in that same tone from years ago—except his voice is deeper, and trembles a little less, and when Finn looks at him, they’re nearly eye to eye. “Is this what I think it is?”

_At least he waited until we got back to the apartment_, Bill thinks. “Maybe,” he replies. “Depends on what you think it is.”

“I think it’s something I’ve wanted for literal _years_.” Finn swoons in closer and reaches out to take Bill’s hand. “When you texted me…” 

Bill swallows. “Yeah.” 

Finn’s eyes are bright and his pretty pink lips are curving into a wide grin. “Yeah? He counters eagerly. He squeezes Bill’s hand. “You sure?”

“I should be asking you that,” Bill asks with an incredulous laugh. “Are _you_ sure?”

Finn’s gaze darkens and narrows. “I’ve been sure.” 

Then, in a burst of confidence Bill can’t ever remember himself possessing at eighteen years old, Finn surges up the last inch or two to press his lips against Bill’s. This time, Bill doesn’t hesitate. He cups Finn’s jaw with one hand and drags a finger against the dangerously soft skin; he presses gently at the hinge of Finn’s jaw and the younger man’s mouth drops open in a gasp. 

Bill presses forward until they’re trading moans between their mouths and Finn is clinging to him, almost slack against him. Bill wraps an arm around Finn’s waist to keep him upright and growls when the kiss breaks. His eyes immediately fall to Finn’s kiss-bruised lips and the light-headed blush on his cheeks. “Jesus Christ,” Bill groans. 

Finn doesn’t reply except to yank Bill minutely closer by the grip on his shirt—Bill’s not even sure when that happened, but he knows his shirt is probably going to end up wrinkled beyond repair—and kiss him again. And again, and again and again until Finn is panting hard against Bill’s lips. 

“Bill,” Finn says, urgency low in his voice. He presses his hips forward and grinds his hard cock, trapped in denim, against Bill’s leg. “I want it, c’mon, please.” 

Bill’s arm tightens around Finn’s waist and before he can overthink it, he drags Finn down the hallway toward his bedroom. They still stop every few moments, slamming each other up against the walls for feverish kisses. Bill’s hands finally make their way down to Finn’s ass and he squeezes, drinking in Finn’s whimper.

“_Now_, Bill,” he demands breathily. 

They go crashing into his bedroom and onto the bed. They kick off their shoes and socks and fall onto the bed, separating for the first time in several long minutes to work on their clothes. Bill shrugs out of his soft leather jacket and tosses it aside, doing the same with his shirt before going to his belt. Beside him, Finn is still fumbling with his own belt, then struggling to get his tight skinny jeans down lithe, pale legs. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Finn barks as he finally shakes off his jeans and lets them drop over the side of the bed. Bill swallows and Finn pauses. He’s still got his hideously patterned windbreaker on along with his black briefs and Bill’s mouth is watering. 

“Christ,” he mutters again, shoving off his jeans. By the time he looks up again, Finn is naked too, and they come crashing back together in a tangle of desperate kisses and flailing limbs. 

Bill lands against his pillows and Finn crawls into his lap, arms looped around Bill’s shoulders. They’re still kissing, wet and sloppy and deep, and Bill is almost content just to do this. Soft skin against his, dustings of hair under his hands, Finn’s achingly plush lips under his own. Finn’s noises are inelegant and loud and Bill can’t get enough of them.

Bill cups one hand against Finn’s ass and brings the other around to his cock. “This okay?” He murmurs, partly slurred because Finn won’t break the kiss even to breathe. 

Finn moans softly and Bill takes it as a yes. He curls his hand around Finn’s cock, hard and curving toward his belly, and starts to stroke. It’s a little dry at first, but Finn’s leaking precome like a faucet. Bill gathers it against his palm on an upstroke, and the next time his palm engulfs Finn’s cock, the younger man lets out a wail. 

“Bill,” he whines. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Bill’s blood simmers pleasantly at the admission, a familiar rush of pleasure flooding his blood stream. “Yeah?” He tightens his grip just slightly, strokes a little faster, watches as Finn’s skinny hips fuck into his fist eagerly. 

“Yeah,” Finn babbles back. His curls bounce with the force of his thrusts and his nails are digging welts into Bill’s shoulders. “So good, wanted this for—fuck, for so long, it’s so stupid.”

Bill leans in and nips at Finn’s lips. Like that day, years ago, he says, “Not stupid.” He sucks at Finn’s bottom lip as he thumbs just under the crown of his cock and isn’t surprised when hot come spurts over his fingers and their stomachs. 

Finn’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes are foggy and he looks dazed. He sways closer to Bill and Bill gives him a few gentle kisses in response. He wipes his hand on the sheets before cupping Finn’s cheek again. 

“So good,” Finn breathes. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

“You do, you are,” Bill says. His fingertips glide against Finn’s skin as the other man slides, out of Bill’s lap and down to settle between his legs. Bill’s brain goes offline for a full minute and when he comes to, Finn’s holding his cock by the base and tonguing gently at the slit. “Jesus,” Bill chokes out. “Take it easy.”

Finn hums dismissively as he suckles at the head, his pretty brown eyes fluttering shut. Bill locks a hand in his curls but only scratches his nails against Finn’s scalp. Finn moans and slips his mouth further down Bill’s cock. 

Bill can admit—to himself, at least—that he’s pictured this a time or two before. All the things Bill ever imagined can’t compare to the sight of Finn’s lips stretched around the girth of his cock. Finn sucks eagerly and his tongue moves clumsily along the underside. His teeth graze the top sometimes but Bill almost doesn’t even notice because the pleasure is too good. 

Bill’s lost in it, this perfect wet heat, until Finn gags and rears back, tears in his eyes and threatening to stream down his face. Bill sits up and gentles his hand on Finn’s head, cupping the nape of his neck. “Fuck, Finn, you okay?”

Finn swallows, and when he speaks his voice is raspy. “Yeah, I’m, I’m alright.” He ducks back down, stopping only long enough to look up at Bill with wide, watery eyes, before he tries to get his lips to meet his fist where it’s curled around the base. 

Bill almost loses himself in the sensations again, hand flexing in Finn’s obnoxious curls, but he resolves to be more careful. He watches closer—pinpoints the moment when Finn goes too deep and starts to gag again. He pulls at Finn’s hair to tug him off.

Finn speaks first, wet and hoarse. “I just wanna make you feel good,” he whines. The tears that Bill thought were just from overstimulation spill down Finn’s cheeks.

Bill sits, stricken. He brings his other hand up to cup Finn’s cheek. “You are, Finn. You _are_.” He pulls him in for a gentle kiss. “S’okay, just c’mere.”

Finn settles in his lap once more and Bill busies himself with running his hands up and down his back, aiming for soothing. “You still haven’t come,” Finn says quietly.

“I don’t know if you caught this, but I’m _old_,” Bill says with a laugh. “One and done.” 

Finn looks at him from under his long lashes. He looks pouty. Delicate, but mischievous. 

“We’ve got time,” Bill says. He’s not sure where the words come from but he knows they’re true. They’ve got time. This won’t be the last opportunity. Bill’s not even sure he’s got the supplies on hand needed to stretch Finn open and wreck him. He tells Finn so, and kisses the deepened pout off his lips. “Next time, I’ll get my mouth on you.”

Finn shudders and when Bill wraps his hand around both their cocks, he earns a throaty moan. Finn throws his head back and Bill dives forward to get his mouth on Finn’s neck. He sucks at his adam’s apple, at the tendons trembling, tonguing over Finn’s rapid pulse. Finn writhes and shakes in Bill’s arms. 

“Wanted more,” Finn whines breathlessly.

“Next time,” Bill growls against Finn’s ear. He tightens his grip just a little and shudders at the delicious friction of Finn’s cock against his own. “Next time,” he promises, sucking a hickey on the hinge of Finn’s jaw. 

When Finn comes this time, it’s quiet and still. He goes tense in Bill’s arms and gasps breathlessly and come paints Bill’s knuckles and cock. He lets go of Finn and focuses on himself, jerking quick and with filthy wet sounds as he uses Finn’s come to slick the way. Finn’s gaze drops to their laps and he watches, mouth hanging open, as Bill’s cock pulses. Come shoots and lands low on Finn’s stomach and Bill groans, a possessive thrill igniting in his gut.

Bill breathes heavily as he finally lets go of his cock. He goes to wipe his hand on the sheets again, wrinkling his nose at the thought of washing his bedding tomorrow, but Finn catches him by the wrist. Finn looks him in the eyes as he brings Bill’s hand to his mouth and sucks and licks him clean. 

By the time his hand is glistening with spit and not come, Bill thinks he could maybe get hard again. 

“I can stay here tonight, right?” Finn asks after a few moments wherein they’ve managed to melt into the bed: Bill is on his back and Finn’s half on top of him, half tucked against his side. It’s almost frighteningly intimate. Bill swallows back fear of the what-ifs and things-could-go-so-wrongs. He wraps an arm around Finn. 

“Here?” Bill asks, then when his brain catches up, “In bed?”

Finn nods; his curls tickle Bill’s chin.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

Bill’s been awake for a while when Finn lifts his head. Finn blinks at him, blearily. Bill looks down to smile at him, thumbs over his ribs with the hand that’s still curled around him. 

Finn clears his throat and says, “Your book is upside down.”

It is; Bill’s known that. Mainly, he couldn’t get it right-side up without his other hand—this is why he hates thick, heavy hardback books—so he was just kind of stuck with holding it however he happened to pick it up. Hence, upside down.

“Son of a bitch. You got me,” Bill replies with a grin. 

Finn laughs. 

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, did you read the tags? Any nasty comments are gonna be deleted, so why put your energy into it?


End file.
